When I contemplate my contemplations on the how's and why's of my existence, I realize the story I've written of my journey thus far is as mediocre as the crow, living between the margins of civilization and the bottomless ocean of spirit that traverses every dimension of every atom, that most don't seem to notice. I stagnate in awe of the experience of Consciousness like a bum with no where to go, and no thing to do. My body decays at every blink of mine eyes and soon my vital force will transmute back into the womb of it all, and give life to new organisms. In the final moments of my travel back to whence my energy was produced, I will realize the dream-like nature of it all, and smile as I drown in the bliss of understanding... until then, what to do, travel the rock?
Do whatever releases the serotonin in your brain. If traveling does that, then go for it. Just take 'spirit' (and everything else) with a grain of salt. It's awesome to succumb to ideas of grandiose beings or collective consciousnesses, but at some point you need to differentiate between imaginative projections and reality. They make great books, though.